Review by Booklist Review
Andrews once worked on a ranch in western Montana, in the outskirts of mountains near Yellowstone. As a young cowboy, he hunted with rifles and shotguns, culling burgeoning, ecology-upsetting tribes of prairie dogs. But when he inherited a .357 magnum from his WWII-veteran grandfather, he began to think more deeply about guns and their meaning in the American West. Beyond the issue of guns, Andrews (Down from the Mountain, 2019) reflects on environmental destruction, the spoliation caused by mining, and the cancerous growth of urban sprawl into wilderness and ranch lands. Such invasions of nature began centuries ago, when white settlers forced Native Americans into reservations. Andrews shares insights from his decades managing ranches, caring for both land and animals. Ultimately, Andrews determines to reshape his inherited revolver, working with a blacksmith to transform it into an object transcending its original deadly purpose. Regardless of one's stance on guns, Andrews offers insightful reflections on their role in the history of the West. The author's mother and wife contribute photographs.
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Rancher and conservationist Andrews (Down from the Mountain) portrays the transformative beauty and violence of the American West in this evocative outing. He moved to Montana as a young man just out of school seeking work as a ranch hand, and here details the brutal lifestyle he led in stark snapshots: discovering one morning that someone had killed several deer during the night and left them in a nearby field, fighting his distaste for hunting, and having to put down a sick horse. Andrews, whose father was a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War, eventually wanted a more serene life and moved with his wife to a farm in western Montana. His inherited Smith & Wesson revolver works as a talisman of sorts as he mulls over what to do with it, ultimately deciding to melt it down and refashion it as a spade to symbolically protest the Indigenous lives lost in the settling of the West. Andrews's personal struggles are mirrored in his examination of the region's beautiful if treacherous landscape: when he learned during a deadly summer drought that his wife was pregnant, he recalls, "Encountering that fear among our hopes was like finding a rattlesnake in the garden." It's a bittersweet meditation on the true meaning of the Wild West. Agent: Duvall Osteen, Aragi. (Feb.)
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Review by Kirkus Book Review
A powerful meditation on a rural life of hunting in a world of guns--some of them used for sinister purposes. "Animals slid backward into holes or crumpled motionless on the ground. I had learned to kill by watching and practicing, just as I had learned to stretch barbwire. I tried to do it well." So writes Montana rancher Andrews, author of Down From the Mountain, about an early encounter with a hunting rifle. After growing up in the Northwest, the author arrived in Montana without a firearm, which raised considerable suspicion on the part of the people of the Madison Valley, some of whom "took it as an insult." After acquiring a rifle, Andrews mistakenly killed a 6-month-old fawn instead of a full-grown deer, allowing that while the "meat was excellent," the guilt was substantial--and an impetus for doing it right the next time. At the heart of the book stands a gun, a .357 Magnum, that has only one purpose. "I had never looked at my grandfather's black-shining, beautiful revolver and told myself the simple truth: This thing I keep and carry is built for killing people," writes the author. Andrews has spent considerable time wondering what to do with it. In one instance, he contemplated rowing out into the Pacific and dropping the pistol in the corrosive saltwater; in another, he took it to a shop while deciding whether to sell it, receiving a lecture from the owner: "What it's made for is protection. What it's made for is to save your damn life." Ultimately, in a grand and philosophically charged adventure, Andrews decided to make it into something nonlethal, which required him to learn the skills of a blacksmith. He did so under the tutelage of a merry nonconformist whose every movement and word "told me something about how a person ought to live." A welcome, eminently sensible contribution to the literature of the American West--and responsible gun ownership. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
